The Captain's Daughter
by isabella2004
Summary: Gunner Hobbs spots a shadowy figure on the Renown leading to a passionate encounter with Captain Sawyer's daughter...Rated M for content
1. Chapter 1

**Just a little smutty fic I dreamed up with the potential for more chapters ;)**

**Set just before events in Mutiny and Retribution and featuring out favourite Gunner Hobbs (Philip Glenister)**

**July 1801**

**Portsmouth**

Portsmouth was awash with sailors. They wandered down the streets and tumbled out of the local taverns. The locals rejoiced and bemoaned their presence, for though they increased revenue for the local shopkeepers and barkeeps, they also brought with them a raucous air, one that could only be explained by long months at sea, cooped up in cramped cabins with only their fellow crew for company. The city was used to them as, for centuries, it had been home to the Royal fleet. Generations of sailors had been born and raised within its walls and, like the ebbing and flow of the tides, its citizens assembled on the dockside to welcome home its sons.

John Hobbs sat slightly apart in the Black Bull Inn near the dockside, carefully supping his beer. It was all too easy, after months at sea, to become carried away with the freedoms that shore leave afforded him and his fellow sailors and, as he observed the crew of HMS Renown, he feared that this time would be no exception. The men were boisterous, high-spirited and there had been singing and dancing almost from the moment of their arrival. Randall was the ringleader, as he always was in these situations and Hobbs found himself watching his charge with a wary eye. The man had little respect for anyone or anything, particularly on board the Renown, and it seemed that the young lady sat on his lap was to prove no exception.

The city whores revelled in the return of the sailors. It meant new faces, new money, and they descended on the taverns in their droves, circling the room like a predator toying with its prey, waiting for the nod or wink that suggested business was sought.

He watched as Randall pawed at her, his hands sliding up her skirt and searching for hidden treasure while she gamely sank a quart of rum, the rosy liquid spilling down her chin and pooling in her ample cleavage. Randall lowered his head and licked it from her, causing a roar to go up from those who enjoyed his company. Moments later, he had lifted the woman up into his arms and was carrying her to the wooden staircase at the far end which led to the nearest bed. He didn't judge Randall, for Hobbs himself had had more than his fair share of women on shore leave. But he was beginning to feel, as he entered his thirty-fifth year, that there had to be more to his existence than simply bedding a woman who had also bedded most of the city.

The air in the inn was thick with the smell of cigar smoke, rum and women. It clawed at his throat, making him feel as though he couldn't breathe and so, finishing his drink, he rose from the table and made his way to the door, delighting in the cool, summer breeze that washed over him as he stepped outside. The air here was fresh, yet tinged with salt and he breathed it in, delighting in its comforting scent. Slowly, he walked down along the harbour front, glancing in turn at each ship berthed there, feeling a sense of pride that they were all dwarfed by the Renown. Hobbs loved his ship. Having served on board her for almost three years, he knew every nook and every cranny. Every sound she made told him something and he fancied that he knew her like he would know a wife. She was the fifth vessel he had served on in his time as a sailor, always under Captain James Sawyer. He couldn't imagine working for any other captain. His loyalty was unquestionable, unswerving and he knew he would follow him to his death.

As he grew closer to the Renown Hobbs saw, to his concern, a light bobbing along the deck. It was a lantern, held high by a shadowy figure who moved quickly along and then descended down towards the crew quarters. Fearing for his ship, he picked up his pace and hurried along the dockside before climbing aboard and landing silently on the deck. He paused to listen, but there was no noise, save for the lapping of the waves at her hull. Lifting his own lantern, he followed the path the figure had taken and slowly made his way down the stairs into the belly of the ship, being careful to avoid giving away his presence. He knew that there was at least one pistol in the watch room, left there no doubt by that idiot Buckland, and as he crept along the corridor, he saw the light in front of him disappear around a bend towards the captain's cabin.

Hobbs opened the door of the watch room and stole inside, easily locating the pistol which had been left lying on the table and then left, continuing to make his way down towards the captain's cabin. The door was open and, as he peered around it, he saw the lantern sat on the desk, creating an eerie glow around the room. The figure, whom he could now see was hooded, had his back to him and was rifling through the drawers in the bookcase opposite.

Hobbs stepped into the room and raised the pistol, his heart hammering in his chest. "Do not move." The figure froze. "I am armed and I _will _shoot you. Raise your hands were I can see them." The figure hesitated. "Now!"

"John, you surely don't mean to shoot me, do you?" Hobbs stared as the figure turned slowly towards him and he instantly recognised the amused face of the captain's daughter.

"Clara for heaven's sake!" he lowered the pistol and let out a shaky breath. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

"I didn't mean to scare you," she laughed, pulling back the hood to reveal tight auburn curls piled on top of her head and glancing at the pistol hanging by his side. "I see you came prepared for a fight. Did you expect me to draw also and challenge you to a duel?"

He glared at her, annoyed by her lack of concern for the situation, "You haven't answered my question. I thought you and your father were dining with the Admiral this evening?"

"We were," Clara replied, leaning back against the bookcase, "but Father forgot his reading glasses and the Admiral is _insisting _on show him some tedious maps or something equally as dull," she waved her hand dismissively, "anyway, he couldn't see them, so he was going to ask the manservant to come on board and locate his glasses but the conversation with Mrs Fisher was just _so_ tedious that I offered to come instead." She held up a small spectacle case and shot him a wide smile. "I'm rather glad I did now. Apart from almost ending up shot, that is."

Hobbs placed the pistol on the table. "I would not have shot you."

"I think you might had I turned quickly," she teased. "I think it admirable that you should seek to defend the Renown so, but I did not realise that my father had you as watchman now as well as gunner."

"I happened to be passing when I saw your light," he told her, "I would not be much of a crewman if I did not seek to discover who was sneaking on board at this hour." He held her gaze for a long moment and marvelled, as he always did, at the dark, velvet colour of her eyes, visible even in the dim light. "You were not at the docks this afternoon to welcome us home."

"Did you expect me to be?" she asked, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Well..." he did not want to confess that his eyes had roamed the waiting crowds as the Renown had come into dock, searching for a glimpse of her fiery locks, and come up empty-handed.

"I wanted to be there but I was engaged at the school. Mrs Berry, the schoolmistress, wanted to talk about the upcoming fair and I couldn't get her to stop," Clara laughed. "No matter how many times I glanced at the clock she just wouldn't take the hint and I thought it would be rude simply to tell her to be quiet."

"Indeed it would have." There was a long moment of silence as they stared at each other and a memory flashed into Hobbs' mind, one he had replayed over and over during the long months at sea alone in his bed. Clara...beneath him...her face contorted with exquisite pleasure...her body writhing against his...

"Father says you only have two days before you must sail for the West Indies," she said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Oh...ah, yes," he said, pushing the thought of her out of his mind. "Santo Domingo. There is apparently an uprising of slaves and..." he broke off as Clara pushed herself away from the bookcase and came towards him. "We are tasked with...quelling it." She stopped in front of him, her face lit by the lanterns. Slowly, she drew out the buttons on her cloak and let it fall to the floor at her feet, revealing her in a gown of the most vivid blue. "Clara..."

"Do you still find me beautiful, John?" she asked quietly. "As beautiful now as then?"

Hobbs swallowed hard and tried to fight against his rising arousal. "You remain the most beautiful woman in Portsmouth," he said, his mouth dry, his eyes flitting from her face to the roundness of her breasts, pushed up by the tightness of her corset.

"And yet you wrote to me only once." Her smile faded. "Only one letter in four months. I thought I had perhaps done something to anger you."

"No, of course not!" he said hurriedly, eager to dispel that notion. "It can be difficult to maintain correspondence at sea, Clara, you know that."

"I received four letters from Father."

He turned away from her and walked over to the small window which looked out over the Portsmouth lights, willing away the pulsation in his abdomen that would be the undoing of them both. "What happened between us was wrong," he said finally, though pleasure rippled through him at the memory.

"How can you call it wrong?" she exclaimed behind him. "It was the most completely...wonderful...moment of my life!"

Hobbs flinched at her words, reminded that he had divested her of her most precious possession. There had been a ball the evening before they were due to set sail for Africa. A final hurrah before four months at sea. He knew he had consumed more than his fair share of rum that night and, armed with a courage which had previously failed him, he had taken it upon himself to tell Clara that in the fifteen years he had known her, she had never looked more beautiful than she had done that evening. Looking back now, he suspected that she too had partaken of the alcohol that evening, for why else would a young woman of her breeding arrive unannounced at his lodgings in the middle of the night and ask nay, demand, that he take her to bed?

"I should have refused you," he said, thinking back as to how little persuasion he had needed. "If your father were to find out..."

"My father is never here long enough to concern himself with what I do," she replied sourly."Besides, he places great trust in you and surely would be happy that we..."

"Your father trusts me as a man who would not take advantage of his kind nature," Hobbs said, turning back to face her. "He has been good to me for so many years, Clara. But if he were to know that I had defiled you in such a way..."

"You say it as though it were something to be ashamed of," Clara interrupted. "Is it not the most natural thing in the world for a man and woman to be together?"

"You are a child compared to me," he protested.

"You did not say that before," she said, moving closer to him again. Standing a whole head taller than her, he looked down into her upturned face. The deep, dark eyes, the full red lips, the clear alabaster skin marred only by a collection of freckles at the base of her throat. She placed her hands gently on his chest and drew them up to his shoulders. "I do not believe that is what you truly think," she whispered.

Hobbs fought hard against it, but he knew he was lost. There was no-one to pull him back, no-one to remind him of the guilt he would feel later. They were alone, totally alone, on board a ship that no-one would think to board for another full day. Lifting his hand, he placed it against her cheek and she turned her face into it, her breath warm on his hand. With his thumb, he slowly traced over the contours of her lips, causing the blood to rush to them. Then she parted her lips and took his thumb in her mouth. Sucking gently on it, she raised her eyes to his again and the action caused him to strain harder against the constriction of his underclothes and believe, for a fleeting moment, that he may come without ever touching her intimately.

Dragging his hand away from her, he replaced it with his mouth, his lips moving strongly over hers, his tongue forcing her lips to part again so that it could plunge repeatedly into the warm wetness of her mouth. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer to him, the crush of her breasts against his chest only serving to increase his excitement. Clara moaned appreciatively at, what he assumed was, the hardness of his manhood pressing against her and he moved his hands to her hair, dragging the neatly arranged pins from it, causing it to fall down around her shoulders. Grabbing a fistful, he pulled her head back so he could see her. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with unspent desire, her mouth red from the ferocity of his kiss. Taking a breath, he kissed her again, even more fiercely than before, all the time pushing her back across the cabin until her back met the edge of the bookcase. Then, pulling her head back again, he feasted on the flesh at the base of her throat, kissing, sucking, biting, running his tongue along the length of her collarbone causing her to shiver against him.

"John..." she gasped above him as his fingers found the light cords at the front of her dress and valiantly began to loosen them. He worked at speed, used to the pressure of heavy and fast-paced work under the watchful eye of superiors. Within minutes, the cords had slackened enough for him to pull down the front of her dress and reveal the lace bodice underneath which held her breasts tantalisingly pert and thrust upwards, as though begging for him.

With a growl of approval, he pulled one cup down roughly and, wrapping his hand around the curve of her breast, pulled it upwards towards him, exposing her hardened pink nipple which he immediately slipped into his mouth. Clara groaned again as he suckled at the flesh, periodically pulling back and running his tongue lightly over it before flooding it again with the full force of his mouth. With his free hand, he exposed her other breast, his fingers pinching and squeezing the opposite nipple before giving it its fair share of attention from his mouth.

"Please..." she whimpered, her fingers knotting in his hair and holding him tightly to her chest, "please..."

Lifting her roughly upwards, he deposited her on top of the chest of drawers, his hand going under the hem of her dress and pulling it up so that it bunched around the tops of her thighs. With expertise gained from years of such conquests, he found the delicate fabric of her knickers and found, to his unadulterated delight, that there was already a slick wetness there. Keeping his eyes on her flushed face, he pushed them to one side and slowly eased two fingers into her warmth. Clara gasped once, twice and then let out a sharp cry as he moved further. Instinctively, she parted her thighs wider and he slid his thumb upwards to find her hot, sensitive core. As he grazed over it, she bucked against his hand and, reaching forward, gripped the top of his shirt tightly in her fingers. He began to move his fingers slowly inside her, gradually increasing the pressure moment by moment. As she thrust her hips against his hand, he bent and closed his mouth over her nipple again. Harder and faster she moved against him, groaning with careless abandon.

"Yes...please...God, yes..."

Just when he felt that she was close to exploding, he withdrew his fingers, causing her to meow in frustration. Lifting his head, he saw a resentment in her eyes that only made her look more desirable.

"My turn," he whispered, pulling her forwards off of the chest of drawers and back into his arms before pressing her up against the adjoining wall and plunging his tongue deep into her mouth again. As she made to wind her arms around his neck, he gripped her right wrist and pushed her hand down towards the button of his trousers. Sipping it free, he guided her hand inside to where he was waiting, hard, pulsating, desperate for her touch. She gripped him easily, as though she were a woman of the world rather than one tasting sexual pleasure for only the second time in her life. "Up and down..." he gasped, tearing away from her mouth briefly.

Slowly, she began sliding her hand along his length, gaining pace and confidence with each movement. "Like this?" she mumbled against his mouth.

"Yes..." he groaned, moving his lips to her throat, "yes....Clara..."he broke off suddenly as she sank to the floor in front of him. For a fleeting moment, he thought she had collapsed but, seconds later, he felt warmth close around him and, looking down, saw that she had taken him into her mouth and was gamely sucking him as she had his finger. He reached forward and gripped the edge of the bookcase to steady himself as waves of pleasure coursed through him. He groaned loudly as she cut short the movement and held him steady in her mouth for a long moment before resuming. "Clara..." he breathed, his fingers finding their way to her hair and gripping it tightly, unconsciously pushing and pulling her to and from him in time with her own movement.

His release was imminent. His body started to shake and he knew that within seconds he would be ready to spurt. Just then, however, Clara withdrew from him and raised herself back up to her feet, her eyes bright with mischief. "Two can play at your game, sir," she said on his look. "And I have had many months to teach myself."

"You..." he groaned, in desperate need of release. Grabbing her to him, he kissed her again, passionately, violently, dragging her across the room to the small bed in the corner. They fell onto it together, the wood creaking under the unexpected weight. Pushing her skirts up again, he gripped the top of her knickers and pulled them roughly down over her thighs. "I do not think," he said as she gasped in surprise, "that you will have any need for me to be gentle."

"No," she replied breathlessly, reaching up to draw him down to her, "but I have need for you."

Pushing her thighs apart, Hobbs raised himself up slightly, allowing her to push his trousers down over her buttocks, take hold and guide him into her. As he slipped easily into her wetness, she groaned loudly, arching her back towards him, her breasts spilling out of the bodice yet again. His mouth couldn't resist the tenderness of her flesh and he bit down mercilessly on one eager bud.

"Yes..." she gasped, closing her eyes as he began thrusting in and out of her, "John...yes...more...ahh..." Interlacing his fingers with hers, he pulled her arms over her head, pinning her to the bed as he continued to ravish her.

"Look at me, Clara," he begged, lifting his head from her breast, his hips jerking into hers. "Look at me." She opened her eyes, deep dark pools of unspent desire. "You are...so beautiful..."

"Harder..." she groaned, clenching her teeth, the word drawn out, "please harder..."

His body felt as though it were being pushed to the limit, as though no encounter had ever been as deep or as passionate. The first time had been pleasurable, but this encounter far exceeded any expectation he may have had.

"Please..." she whimpered, "oh God, don't stop..."

But he would have to, there would need to be an eventual release from the sweet agony. Hobbs lowered himself down so that his body lay prostrate against hers, Clara raising and curling her thighs around his back to compensate. He continued to thrust, long, eager strokes, the feeling of every part of them connecting pushing him on.

Pulling her fingers from his, Clara clutched at his buttocks, pulling him further inside her. "Clara..." he gasped her name, "darling Clara..." She cried out again then the white heat overcame him. He felt himself jerk finally and then unload inside her. As he looked up, Clara's face went bright red, she arched herself towards him and then let out a guttural moan as she reached her own orgasm and then slumped down into the bed, her breathing laboured.

His movements slowed and eventually stopped and he slid gently out of her, rolling over so that they lay facing each other. Hobbs watched her, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the redness on her cheeks, her hair in a cloud around her head, the sleepy look of spent desire in her eyes and thought, yet again, that she had never looked more beautiful.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, reaching out and tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. "It wasn't...I wasn't...?"

"Ever the gentleman," she replied, reaching forward and kissing his lips lightly. Then, as she had done before, she pulled herself up out of the bed and retrieved her knickers from the floor. He watched, mesmerised, as she gracefully slid them back on under her skirts and then turned to the nearby mirror to fix her hair.

"Going somewhere?" Hobbs asked, willing her to return to him.

"I still have to take my father his glasses," she said. "He'll be wondering what's taking me so long."

Hobbs pulled himself off of the bed and walked up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing the back of her neck, "You shall tell him that you were pleasurably detained."

Clara turned in his embrace. "So I shall," she said, as his mouth found hers and his tongue slid gently inside. After a moment, she pulled back. "I should go before the search party arrives." Bending, she lifted her cloak from the floor and re-fastened it around her. "Good night, John," she said softly.

As she turned to leave, Hobbs grabbed her wrist, pulling her back round to face him. "I have to see you again," he said forcefully, all sense of doing what was right leaving him instantly.

Clara smiled, "And you shall, my love. You shall."

With that, she lifted the lantern and slipped through the door into the darkness. Moments later, the sound of her footsteps died away and Hobbs was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A bit more plot in this chapter...don't scroll down to the smut now ;)**

Hobbs slept fitfully that night, his mind filled with images of what had transpired between himself and Clara on board the Renown. He had waited a discreet ten minutes before following her off of the ship, lest anyone had been watching. He wouldn't like to guess what someone like Randall might say if they had been seen together at that time of night.

As he tossed and turned, the sheets bunched around his sweaty body, he wrestled with the rights and wrongs of it all. When he broke it down, there were so many differences between them that it seemed virtually impossible for anything further to come of it. He was thirty-five, a mere gunner from a poor background. She was barely twenty, the daughter of his superior and, most likely, destined for marriage to an officer. He considered those on board the Renown and thought that any match would most likely be promoted with either Lieutenant Hornblower or Lieutenant Kennedy. Buckland was out of the question. The captain merely tolerated him for the bumbling idiot that he was and would never, Hobbs was sure, dream of encouraging such a match. Clara's marriage was not a thought he relished. The prospect of her, lying with another, provoked feelings within him that he couldn't quite give name to. He had no claim to her, nor she to him, and yet it troubled him beyond measure.

As morning broke he rose, washed and dressed, and ate a meagre breakfast. He found he had no appetite and, despite the disapproval of the boarding house mistress, left with only a few slices of bread and cheese in his stomach.

He wandered the streets of Portsmouth, drinking in the sights and smells of his hometown, reliving the memories of his childhood spent running up and down from the town to the docks and back again, staring at the ships that were docked there and wishing, with all his heart that he would have the opportunity to sail on one. He regretted not one moment of his life or the choices that he had made and yet…

As he made his way back down towards the docks, the local market traders were setting up. He wandered amongst the stalls which sold everything from clothing to jewels to lotions and potions and smiled as the traders called to each other. No matter how much he enjoyed the sea, he always enjoyed coming home to the familiarity.

"Jewels for your pretty lady, sir?"

He stopped and turned at the sound of a woman's voice and found himself face to face with a dazzling array of jewels that shone in the midday sunshine. Reds, blues, greens…they completely dazzled him to the extent that he had to momentarily screw his eyes shut against the brightness. When he opened them again, his eyes were immediately drawn to a delicate silver necklace with a bright blue sapphire dangling innocently at the end.

"You like that one, sir?" He looked past it to the owner of the voice. She was an old woman, her grey hair pulled back into a fierce looking chignon at the back of her head. Her clothes were worn, but she had a look about her, as though she herself had once seen better days. "It's a beauty," she pulled herself up onto her feet and unhooked it. "Said to bring the wearer great luck."

Hobbs ignored her attempt to sell it to him on the vague promise of some ancient legend and took it from her, holding it in his hands, allowing the sunlight to catch it. The jewel reminded him of the colour of Clara's eyes. Before he realised, it was purchased and nestled securely in his pocket, a gift that he would give to her before they set sail. It was not, he told himself, a token of love and affection meant to secure her, but merely a trinket from a man to a pretty woman. There was no harm in that.

As he reached the docks, his eyes searched out and found the Renown, still bobbing gracefully, her sails a vivid white as they fluttered high above. His eyes took her in, tracing down her graceful lines, marvelling as he always did at her majesty. Perching himself on a nearby stone wall, he put his head back and, closing his eyes, let the sun warm his face, until a familiar sounding laugh brought him back to reality with a sudden start.

Pulling himself upright, he looked down the dockside and saw Clara in the distance, dressed in a summer gown of the palest green, her hair loose around her shoulders, the sun turning it into a cascading fire. She was talking to an older woman and, every so often, he would catch the flash of her smile as she turned towards him. He wondered if she had seen him and if she would come to him. He felt his arousal grow just watching her and his breathing become shallow as he recalled the sight and sound of her, her hands clawing at him, her breath carrying his name…

"Ah, Mr Hobbs!" He was jolted out of his reverie by a familiar voice from behind and, turning, he saw Captain Sawyer standing behind him, watching him with a knowing smile. "Even knowing her as we do, she is still a joy to behold."

Hobbs leapt to his feet and glanced from the captain to Clara and back again, suddenly concerned that his actions had perhaps given his feelings away. "Sir?"

"I'm referring to the Renown."

"Oh…oh yes sir," he recovered quickly, "yes, indeed she is."

Captain Sawyer came and stood beside him, "You revere her so much that you spend your shore leave down here watching over her?"

"No, I was merely…" Hobbs trailed off as a smile crossed the captain's face. It seemed sensible enough simply to agree. "Yes sir."

"As it should be. You're a man after my own heart, Mr Hobbs and your feelings are no doubt the reason for your devotion to me all these years. I know that you, as I, love nothing more than to be standing on her bow as the waves break over us."

"Indeed, sir."

Captain Sawyer straightened up. "Unfortunately, we shall not be boarding her as soon as we would like."

Hobbs looked at him, "Sir?"

"Bad weather in the channel dictates that we must hold off another day, despite how implausible that sounds," he said, looking up at the clear sky. We shall aim to set sail on Tuesday instead." The captain shook his head, "It is regrettable but unavoidable. Although our remaining in Portsmouth for another evening does, of course, have some…compensations."

Hobbs followed his captain's gaze and watched as Clara bid goodbye to her friend and began making her way along the dockside towards them. As she approached, he thought that Captain Sawyer had never been so right.

"My daughter insisted that I invite you to dine with us this evening," the captain continued. "She feels somewhat embarrassed that she hasn't had the opportunity to see you this visit. I know how much she enjoys your company."

If there was any hint of suspicion in the captain's tone, Hobbs did not notice it. His eyes remained on Clara as she stopped in front of them. "Father, Mr Hobbs," she gave a small curtsy. "It's such a beautiful afternoon, don't you think?"

"Indeed it is," Hobbs replied quickly.

"But not enough to prevent us from being unable to sail," Captain Sawyer added.

"Father, anyone would think that you do not relish the prospect of another day in your daughter's company," Clara chastised him. "You have been away so many months already. Surely another day cannot be too difficult for you to bear?"

"Of course not my dear, of course not," Captain Sawyer replied. "But your comments are rather without foundation seeing as you have hardly been in my company at all since my return."

Clara glanced back to where the woman she had been talking to was walking away in the opposite direction. "Mrs Berry has asked for my help with regards to organising the gala and I would be no lady at all to turn her down."

"Yes, well I do hope she is not trying to entice you into a life of servitude as a school teacher."

Hobbs cleared his throat conspicuously, becoming somewhat uncomfortable to bear witness to such a disagreement between father and daughter.

"Mr Hobbs," Clara turned to him, clearly glad of the distraction, "My apologies. Has my father extended the invitation for dinner tonight?"

"Yes he has," Hobbs replied, "and I would be delighted to accept."

Clara clapped her hands, "I'm so glad!"

"Yes indeed," Captain Sawyer agreed. "I really should let Elizabeth know…" he looked into the distance, "she really does hate it when dinner guests turn up without her knowledge…"

Hobbs tore his gaze from Clara's face and looked at his captain with confusion, "Elizabeth?"

"My wife," the captain said, "Good gracious Mr Hobbs! We haven't been away at sea that long!" He grinned, inviting his gunner to share in the joke.

"Father…" Clara spoke hurriedly, "why don't you head back to the house? You'll be wanting a quick nap before dinner, won't you?"

"A nap?" Captain Sawyer exclaimed, seemingly put out by the suggestion, "Captain James Sawyer does not need to _nap _before dinner! Heavens Clara, whatever next?" He shook his head. "But I _do _need to speak to Captain Manning before we set sail…" he pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at it. "Perhaps I could do that before dinner. Yes, indeed I think I will. Good day, Mr Hobbs. I look forward to your company this evening." He dropped a light kiss on Clara's cheek and then strode away along the dockside.

Hobbs turned to Clara again and saw the worry marring her features. "Elizabeth?" he repeated his earlier question. "I don't understand…"

"It's nothing," she interrupted quickly. "Sometimes, late in the afternoon…" she trailed off and he got the distinct impression that she didn't quite know how to finish her thought.

"But your mother has been dead for some years," he probed.

"I'm aware of that!" she glared at him.

He instantly backtracked. "Forgive me, Clara, I did not mean…"

"Let us forget it," she said, smoothing her face into a smile and stepping closer to him. "I for one am pleased that you will have to remain in Portsmouth for another day." She lowered her voice so only he could hear. "My aunt and uncle tend to retire early and as for Father…" she left the suggestion hanging.

Hobbs swallowed hard, fighting against the urge to lay hands on her right there in front of everyone. "I fail to see how…"

"Don't worry," she replied, leaning in and brushing her lips against his cheek. "I will find a way." She moved back and grinned broadly at him. "I'm a woman of many talents, Mr Hobbs, many talents. Until this evening then."

He watched as she turned and made her way back up the hill towards the town, knowing deep within that he had to have her.

XXXX

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening," Hobbs greeted the butler at the door of Clara's uncle's house at seven sharp, dressed for dinner in his best uniform. It had been a short walk from the lodgings to the house and he had noticed the admiring glances he had drawn from the women that he passed. Some were women of good character, some were not and, in years gone by he would have sought out their company as good food and better brandy loosened him. Tonight, however, there was only one woman he wanted to see.

"Follow me, sir," the butler said, "the others are waiting in the drawing room."

Hobbs followed him across the magnificent hallway, decorated with various works of art and stag's heads, to a door at the far end that was slightly ajar. Even before he reached it, he could hear Clara's voice as she argued mildly with her father. As he approached, he straightened his jacket and waited to be presented.

"Gunner Hobbs!" The butler called out automatically as he pushed open the door. Hobbs stepped into the room and saw Captain Sawyer standing at the fireplace.

"Mr Hobbs, welcome!" he said, coming forward and extending his hand. "It's very good of you to join us this evening."

"I'm very honoured to be invited, sir, thank you," Hobbs replied, shaking his captain's hand. "I had forgotten what a fine house this was."

"Well I can take no credit for that," the captain replied, turning to a gentleman sat in a large armchair not five feet away. "You'll remember my brother-in-law, Colonel Fitzwilliam of His Majesty's Regiment."

"Of course, sir," Hobbs stepped forward as the other man rose. "It's an honour to meet you again."

"Quite right, quite right," the Colonel replied, shaking his hand perfunctorily. "My wife, Harriet." He gestured carelessly at the woman standing behind his chair. She was dressed in a heavily brocaded gown in a, frankly, hideous shade of gold. Her dark hair was piled up on top of her head so tightly that it seemed as though her face had been stretched to accommodate it.

"Mr Hobbs," she stepped forward, curtsied and extended her hand, which he obligingly kissed. "It's a pleasure to have you in our home again."

"Thank you ma'am," he replied.

"Last but not least, I suppose."

He turned at the sound of Clara's voice and saw her standing at the window, watching him with barely veiled amusement. For a moment, he found he couldn't speak, so breathtaking did she look in purple damask which could only have come from the finest dressmaker in London. The gown had a full skirt that billowed out around her legs, but moved tightly upwards, cinching into her waist and drawing his eyes to her bosoms, pert and overflowing. His eyes locked on the delicate necklace that rested just on top of them, rising and falling as it did with every breath and found his gaze quite mesmerised by it.

"One could hardly forget you, my dear," Captain Sawyer said. "Please engage her in some form of conversation, Mr Hobbs, as she is irritating me beyond measure this evening."

Hobbs stepped forward and kissed her outstretched hand. "May I say how enchanting you look this evening," he said, keeping his voice low lest the sound of his desire be evident to everyone else in the room. Indeed, it was all he could do not to drag her into his arms and ravish her with his mouth, an action which he felt sure Captain Sawyer would disapprove of.

"You may say," she replied, drawing her hand back. "And _I _must say how fine you look in your uniform. Though I must confess to being unable to imagine you…out of it."

"Clara!" he exclaimed softly, glancing behind him and observing that the others had not heard her words.

She laughed, "Calm yourself John. I am nothing if not discreet."

He was prevented from saying anymore by the calling of dinner and, linking his arm with hers, he accompanied her into the dining room and found himself sitting opposite her. In all honesty, he would rather have been beside her, for his only view now was of her cleavage and he found he could not tear his gaze away. The food was delicious and momentarily distracted him, as did the conversation which flowed around him and generally consisted of Captain Sawyer and Colonel Fitzwilliam agreeing with each other about everything and anything and Clara vehemently disagreeing whilst Mrs Fitzwilliam said nothing.

"Mr Hobbs, have you ever met a woman so keen on an argument before?" Captain Sawyer said as dessert was placed in front of them. "Really Clara, if you are ever to win a husband you will need to learn to be a little more discreet with your opinions."

Clara smiled sweetly at him, "But Father, you have taught me to have my own opinion and say what I mean. Are you now saying that that is wrong? Surely you would not have me as some meek and mild wife who never says boo to a goose?" As she spoke, she glanced quickly at her aunt whose eyes remained on her plate. Hobbs felt a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. Her fire and determination was arousing him beyond belief. "Is that what you would wish in a wife?" she continued, directing her question at him.

"Ah…" he floundered, "well…"

"I think it quite impossible for you to be meek and mild," Captain Sawyer interrupted. "Your mother always says that you were born with the ability to walk, talk and think for yourself. I'm sure when she returns from her trip to Scotland she will agree with me."

A sudden silence descended over the table and, his desire momentarily forgotten, Hobbs glanced at Clara, whose smile had slipped from her face. She glanced at him and then down at her plate. "My compliments to Mrs Baker this evening," she said, changing the subject. "This dessert is quite divine."

"Indeed it is," Colonel Fitzwilliam agreed. "Capital, just capital."

The conversation began to flow easily again and, as brandy was being served, Mrs Fitzwilliam made to rise from the table. Hobbs automatically got to his feet with the other men, but Clara remained where she was, watching her father with an expression of open defiance.

"Clara?" he said, seeing that she hadn't moved.

"I'd like to stay, Father, and converse with you men" she said. "I'm sure Aunt Harriet is tired of my tedious anecdotes."

"Please go to the drawing room," he said, in a tone Hobbs recognised from years as one of his crew. Clara paused and he watched as a look of anger crossed the captain's face. "Clara!"

She rose to her feet and moved away from the table, following her aunt, and slamming the door as she left.

"Sometimes, I despair of her," Captain Sawyer said, as the men retook their seats. "How she will ever marry…"

Hobbs accepted brandy from the butler. "That is your intention then, sir? To have her married?"

"This is no life for her, here in this house with only my sister for company. She will be twenty-one next January and it's high time she had a husband and a home of her own to look after as opposed to…to running around with Mrs Berry the schoolmistress. No," he said decidedly, "she must marry and when we return from this latest voyage to the West Indies I shall make it my mission to find someone suitable for her."

Hobbs held back from offering any opinion and the conversation turned to naval matters for the next half hour until they rose to join the women in the drawing room. When he entered, he saw Mrs Fitzwilliam alone next to the fire, absent-mindedly plucking at the sleeve of the chair. His eyes scanned the room, but there was no sign of Clara.

"Where is she?" Captain Sawyer sighed. "If she has taken to her room in a fit of temper…"

"James, do give her some credit," Mrs Fitzwilliam said. "She may be wilful but she is not ill-mannered. She has merely gone into the garden to take some air. She asked me to accompany her, but I am quite fatigued this evening. Indeed I may turn in earlier than usual. It's this heat, it's so draining."

"I see," the captain said, turning to Hobbs. "Mr Hobbs, I wonder if you would be so good as to accompany my daughter as she takes her evening constitutional. I fear she may come to mischief without some form of chaperone even in ones own garden."

Hobbs' heart thumped in his chest, "Of course, sir." He tried to make his movements as slow and deliberate as possible but he felt as though he were running out of the drawing room, across the hallway and out into the front garden of the house. His feet found the path that would take him around to the back and he pushed his way through overhanging trees, and a gate in desperate need of repair, before emerging into the acreage that the Fitzwilliams' clearly called a garden. It was badly overgrown, the care taken of the interior of the house clearly not extended outside, and as he scanned the expanse he initially found no sign of Clara.

"John!"

Turning at the sound of his name, his eyes took in a fairly battered looking summer house, its paint peeling and chipping, and saw Clara peering around the entrance. She gestured to him and he hurried across towards her, stumbling over the uneven ground in his desperation to touch her. She stepped back quickly as his feet found the rotting step and he pursued her inside, forcing her against the far wall until her back was pressed against it. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed his body against hers and kissed her fiercely, his tongue forcing her lips apart and plunging repeatedly into her mouth. She responded to him with equal ardour, knotting her fingers in his hair and pulling him even closer to her, her mouth working frantically against his. His face began to ache, so he pulled back from her and bit down on the flesh of her neck, causing her to cry out as his fingers fumbled with the neckline of her dress, fighting with the constricting material, eager to feast on the treasures buried beneath.

"I couldn't stand it any longer…" Clara breathed above him. "I couldn't sit there and make conversation with my aunt when I wanted…oh….when I wanted…" She let out a moan of pleasure as he freed one of her breasts and hungrily clamped his mouth over her nipple.

She tasted sweeter than he remembered from even the night before. Like peaches and cream, honey and almonds, strawberries and sugar…his mind raced, almost to the point of oblivion, as he reached under her heavy skirt and felt upwards for her knickers.

"Don't tease me this time," she groaned, "just…please…"

Hobbs had no intention of teasing her. He wanted her, needed her, needed to feel himself encased inside her…he found the lacy material and yanked it down with one hand whilst fighting with the buttons on his trousers with the other, freeing himself as much as possible, and praying that he would be inside her before he came. Grabbing her forward, he slammed her back against the wall, causing her to cry out, hitched her legs up around his waist and drove into her as though his life depended on it. Clara cried out and immediately clamped her legs tightly around him, her hips thrusting forward instantly to meet his, angling her body slightly so that his pelvis was pressing against her most sensitive spot.

"Oh God…" he groaned, burying his face in her breasts as the sweet friction threatened to render him speechless, "Oh Lord…Clara…"

"Deeper, deeper…" she groaned, her movements quickening. "Harder…oh God, John, don't stop. Please…please don't stop…it's all I've been able to think about…all I want…" He thrust into her as hard as he could, feeling his legs ache and his chest burn with the effort. Her words turned into cries and her cries into high pitched mewing as he felt her approach her climax. He found her mouth again and bit down on her lower lip before seeking out the warmth of her mouth again with his tongue. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her, her lower body still bucking against his, an animal-like groan tearing from her lips. "Yes….yes…"

Hobbs felt his groin spasm as he poised to come and, wanting to prolong the pleasure as long as possible, he quickly withdrew from her, turned her in his arms and pushed her towards a tattered looking steel table nestling in the corner of the room which had no doubt played host to genteel tea in the garden in the past. She half-turned to look at him, no doubt confused, but before she could protest, he grabbed the back of her hair and forced her to bend down over the table before pulling up her skirts, roughly forcing her thighs apart and thrusting into her again.

Clara let out a scream and, for a brief moment, he thought he had hurt her, but then her hips began jerking back against him as she tightened herself around him again. Stretching herself out, she reached and gripped the far edge of the table as he placed his hands on either side of her thighs and pummelled hard against her.

"Ah…" she gasped, her voice strained, "yes, yes…oh God…more…"

"Do you like that?" he asked, his voice coming out as barely more than a gasp.

"Yes…" she whimpered, "yes…" She cried out again as he reached under her body and pulled her back towards him, cupping her left breast with one hand and pulling her skirts up at the front. With insistent fingers, he found her core and began stroking it firmly, assertively, knowing that it would drive her to the brink, increasing his rhythm at the same time, aware that in a few moments he was going to spurt violently inside her. "Oh God…" she groaned, arching back against him. "John…"

He came then, a white hot heat burning him from within, his whole body shaking with the sheer force of his desire for her. He unloaded inside her, drawing back slightly too early, or too late depending on your preference, causing a sliver to run down her thigh. "Sorry…" he said, fighting for breath, gathering her back towards him and burying his face in the crease of her neck. "I didn't mean…Clara…beautiful Clara…"

The echo of Clara's own cry was still dissipating in the air as she sagged back against him, her weight heavy in his arms as it seemed her legs threatened to give way under her. She reached up with one arm, pulling his face round to hers and kissing him passionately. When he drew back, he noticed the sparkle in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks. "Well…" she said smiling, "I would never have imagined…"

He laughed and turned her in his arms, "You're not the only one who can surprise, Miss Sawyer."

"Obviously," she leaned in and accepted his proffered kiss. "All those months at sea, Mr Hobbs, must have made you very…imaginative."

"Well spent, alone in one's cabin, fantasising."

Clara laughed and then regarded him seriously. "Come to me tonight."

Hobbs frowned, "What?"

"My room is at the far end, the last window at the back. I'll leave it open. Come at midnight." She pressed her lips against his again. "I believe we have fornicated on enough furniture, Mr Hobbs. Now I want you to make love to me."

"But…" he paused, "Your father, aunt and uncle…"

"They won't hear a thing," she reassured him. Stepping back, she pulled her skirts down and rearranged her bodice as best she could. "Come, we should get back to the others at least, before they come looking for us." Then she turned and skipped out of the summer house and ran back across the grass to the house.


End file.
